


Painting Night!

by thatsrightdollface



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, Healing, Hypothetical Post-Canon anyway hehehe, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Other, Painting, Post-Canon, it's Lucio's birthday!!!, the Apprentice's gender is unspecified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Lucio and the Apprentice throw a painting-themed party!  A new sort of party, living a new sort of life.
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Others mentioned
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Painting Night!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, and happy birthday, Lucio!!! :') I hope you enjoy this fic if you read it -- I'm sorry for any and all mistakes I might've made. I hope you're staying safe and having a great day!!!

While you’ve always known Lucio Morgasson likes commissioning paintings, you’ve never seen him make any of his own. Until tonight, that is. Lucio’s the former Count of Vesuvia — uh, not that anyone around here’s gonna be forgetting _that_ anytime soon — and your current/eternal partner now that all the phantom-goat-man, contract-with-the-Devil drama’s been figured out. You suppose it _could_ be said he’s painted with enemy blood in the snow, before, considering he’s hacked his way through armies, ghostly Devil-contract-related and otherwise, relentless and dazzling with a blade. That isn’t the sort of “painting” Lucio’s gonna do tonight, though. Don’t worry. We’re talking about fine art, this time around!

When it comes to fine art, Lucio specifically likes commissioning intricate gold-leaf-y portraits of himself and his life, you’ve noticed. I mean, of course you’ve noticed — the paintings end up hung basically everywhere, like he’s trying to grab hold of time as it slips on by. Portraits capturing how he looks... or how he’d _like_ to look... in various outfits he’s proud of, with you and with his dogs; portraits of the palace gardens, lit up and luxuriously dizzy with the Masquerades that used to be. Still, you’ve never seen Lucio try to paint pictures on his own, or even hold up a brush to do anything more than assess whether it’s worth the shop price. He’s told you that as much as he loves art, he knows he’ll get pissed off if his own attempts don’t come out well. He knows he presses too hard on the paper even just scribbling notes, sometimes, and comparing a canvas he’s just torn an accidental hole through to those super-professional portraits he buys would possibly make the whole thing feel pretty exhausting. Maybe it would’ve been like the pressure of wanting magic he didn’t have all over again, even; maybe he’d have ended up making crooked deals in exchange for instant artistic genius, huh? 

Can’t have that.

When you first met him, Lucio wouldn’t have wanted to admit his art-based insecurities so casually, warm and playful and shrugging like, “Crooked deals — what can you do?” He might’ve been afraid it would make you look at him differently, back then. Like knowing what he couldn’t do would only diminish him, as if he were a marble sculpture of a man left out for the tides, and he could be worn away bit by bit if he didn’t fight to keep his lofty ground. Lucio trusts you, now, more than he trusts himself. When he asks you whether you think a painting night sounds like a fun idea – “Do you think any of our friends’ve forgiven me enough to come? Like, if we had snacks and wine and stuff for them?” – you know he genuinely wants your opinion. You tell him a painting night’s a really lovely idea, and he grins at you, suddenly swaggering like when he shows off swordplay techniques. Oh, yeah, that’s what he thought, he says. Maybe you two can hold something like that, this year, since the Masquerade isn’t really his birthday party now that he’s not Count anymore. 

When he was Count of Vesuvia, Lucio could provide the people with drinks and dancing, every time January thirteenth came around – when he was Count of Vesuvia, everyone knew when Lucio Morgasson was born because it meant free food and over-the-top glittery entertainment for days. A decadent carnival spreading out like spilled blood from the palace and overtaking the whole city. Lucio’s love letter to the world, though so much of the time he forgot to treat that same world gently, back then. Now, Lucio works in your magic shop, day-to-day, swiping dust off the wares and haggling with customers behind the counter. He sings off-key and low under his breath as he works, sometimes, and he can’t afford to buy everyone in the city near-infinite cocktails. You can’t do anything like that, either, though you would have liked to give him his party, if you could. What the two of you _can_ do is hire some of his favorite artists to teach a simple painting lesson for the evening. Lucio will mix drinks himself, he says; there’ll be dinner, and hopefully a fun time. Even if it’s quiet, compared to the cackling, star-swept Masquerade. Even if his ex-wife Nadia is already an artist, and she might find the beginner-level instructions tedious. Maybe she’ll be able to get into it, though? Lucio hopes she’ll get a kick out of things, anyway. His face lights up, talking about it all, and he spends a long time picking out the best paints. Turning the options over in his hands, and then cursing a little, scratching some paint off his golden prosthetic with a fingernail.

Not a lot of people will be coming to Lucio’s painting night birthday party, but honestly your apartment above the magic shop probably couldn’t hold any more than the ones that’ve already RSVP-ed. You know Asra, Portia and Julian are coming out of love for you, mostly, because they all told you so in one way or another – you know Nadia will bring Lucio a nice gift, at least. You’ll stay up late, after the fancy artist instructors have gathered up their easels and bags of coin for payment and headed on home. Maybe people will flick paint at each other across the table; maybe Lucio will fall asleep drunk and slurring about what he hopes the two of you do over the next year. He’s older, now, than he ever used to like imagining himself. You’ve been helping hide his silvering hair with magic, though, at his wide-eyed, pleading request, and you know he has Plans for the life still waiting for him. He wants to learn how to mix powders and healing creams, to help you out at the shop, the same way he learned sauntering Scourge-of-the-South-style combat when he was young; he wants to make friends with some of your neighbors, so next years’ birthday party will have to spill out into the Rowdy Raven or something like that. 

Tonight’s not Lucio’s birthday party, not yet. That’ll be in a couple nights, barring any unforeseen, possibly-Devil-related catastrophes. Lucio wants to test the paints out tonight, though, anyway – he wants to try painting _you_ , for the very first piece of art he’s tried making himself since he was a kid. He tells you so, slowly, flushed and looking at his boots. “We might not always be able to afford enough – I mean I want to be able to record you. Us. Our lives together, even if I spend a little less of our money on awesome portraits. Still gonna buy awesome portraits, but... you know what I mean, right? I know this first painting’s gonna absolutely suck, but I _also_ know you believe me when I say you’re a million times more gorgeous than anything I could ever paint, even if I was already good. And you won’t be mad that it sucks, right?”

“It won’t suck,” you tell Lucio, trying to gather up your faith in him and show it in your voice, in your smile, in the way you hold his eyes. You squeeze his hand. “But no, I couldn’t possibly be mad at you for wanting to paint me.” You pull him a little closer and kiss the edge of his lips. He leans into you, probably without even realizing it. 

“Don’t tease me, no matter how bad it is,” Lucio cautions. Someday soon you might both be laughing over your painting attempts together, half-choking on strong drinks. You can imagine that, even now, looking at the curious, optimistic twinkle in his eye. But not tonight, not now. Not when we’re talking about his very first try!

“I would never,” you say, and Lucio’s grin seems a little braver still.

Your home will be filled with art, for years and years to come, of course. Awesome commissioned portraits, and something new, with Lucio propping his hand up on his enchanted golden prosthetic arm to keep his brush from shaking, sharp teeth ground together and a warrior’s focus on his face. Lucio won’t let you hang up the first portrait he does of you — or the second, or even the tenth — but you’ll get there, and he won’t try to make any crooked deals to get there faster. You trust him, on that. 

“I guess you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks, sometimes,” your old friend Asra will say, softly, leaning across the table to you at Lucio’s painting night birthday party. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy so happy... so... ‘look-at-me, I’m- _not_ -a-tyrant-Count’... as when he’s with you. And painting? I didn’t think I’d see the day.”

You can see why Lucio would want to hold happiness close, preserved in portraits like fruit in jam, like veins of gold in the mountains. You watch him practice something new — something he’s afraid he’ll be terrible at, something that already means so much to him, something that will carry your memories on even past your inevitable deaths — and you say, “Lucio, you know I’m looking forward to another year with you, right?”

He knows. He brushes a little paint on his forehead, fiddling with his magically-not-silvering hair, winking at you, and of course he knows. 

You stole the words right out of his mouth, truth be told. 


End file.
